Liquid State
by BrokeMachine
Summary: This follows the events after the season finale of season 6. Juice reflects on what has happened but when he doesn't answer his phone Chibs begins to wonder why.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: This follows the events after the season finale of season 6. Juice reflects on what has happened but when he doesn't answer his phone Chibs begins to wonder why.

Rating: K+ (just to be safe)

* * *

><p>Liquid State<p>

Chapter 1

So, the clubs doesn't trust him, Juice reflects as he takes another sip from his glass of whiskey. There is a pain there, sitting in his chest clawing at his throat making it tight, that he tries to warm up and sooth with the liquid fire - unsuccessful for the most part. Nothing helps. Nothing takes away the utter stupidity he feels he is. The soar rawness of the negative emotions that are plaguing his inside - and it's all in the inside – because for the outside, he's still. From the outside, he's sitting on a stool alone in his kitchen, drinking. He's afraid he might breakdown and cry, here in the solitude of his own home – and there's nothing wrong with that, after all who's here to judge him: no one – but he's too tired for that. After tonight – there's just no energy left.

He fucked up. Gemma fucked up. They both fucked up, and that's why he helped her, because either way, he's lost to the club. He might have had his last and final strike, and he might meat Mr. Mayhem soon. So, when he saw Gemma sitting there next to a pool of Tara's blood, shaken and confused, looking up at him frightened, he had to help her. He had to help her because, in all honesty, why not? At that point, she was fucked. He was fucked, too. He had just shot Deputy Sheriff Roosevelt dead and he felt nothing, nothing when he saw his body go down and crash lifelessly on the linoleum floor. _Nothing._

He understood then why the club had been so uneasy around him. He must have become unhinged long before this very moment and he simply just never noticed it happen, and that rattled something inside of him. What else had he become? Cold-blooded murderer?

He took another drink, a deep one, one that left nothing but a shallow tinge of golden water at the bottom of his glass. He let it burn and shook his head to take that ugly thought from his mind. And it did for a while, but did nothing for that persistent knot in his throat and it did nothing for the chaos of emotions in his chest.

That was not what was supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to shoot Deputy Sheriff Roosevelt and Gemma wasn't supposed to kill Tara. But it happened, and he helped Gemma cover up Tara's murder. Something he knows Jax wouldn't be too happy about. But, he simply was too tired to care about what Jax wanted, _what Jax would do to him if he ever found out._

'_You'll be the next Darvany,"_ A voice whispered in his head. And the thought of her made the knot at his throat tighten. And for a second, he imagined her small and fragile hands around his neck. Holding on to him tight, squeezing the air out of him, whispering lightly like the wind, and reassuring him that nothing bad was going to happen. Just like he did before he killed her.

His lungs protested and he the air came back to him slowly – painfully. He felt his eyes burn, and he blamed the whiskey.

'_I fucked up, again.' _Juice thought as he poured whiskey in his empty glass till it hit the rim. '_I'm a cold blooded-murderer,_' the thought came to him without warning and he felt a chill at the back of his neck as if a ghost had just walked by. The little hairs on his arms stood on end. He shivered and downed the whiskey as fast as he could, wasting no time as he filled the glass up again.

He felt, alone. And scared.

Juice had half a mind to climb on his motorcycle and find Gemma because she's the only friendship he had left. And that wasn't a good thing.

He checked the pockets of his cut, and when he couldn't find his keys there he checked the pockets of his pants. Another failure. He looked about his immediate surroundings through his blurred vision and there at the distant end of his coffee table he just might have spotted the small metallic cluster of keys.

He didn't even consider testing the reliability of his legs when he attempted to stand. In his poor judgment, it couldn't have been too hard. After all, he was sitting on a stool and somewhere in the processes of his mind he was already halfway there to standing. He quickly realized how wrong that logic was when he grasped the counter for dear life as he tried to stop the vicious spinning the room had suddenly taken to doing.

All the spinning was making him sick. He wanted it to stop. He wanted everything to stop. He shut his eyes tightly and felt himself hit the floor – _he just couldn't hold on anymore_.

He must have fallen unconscious because he was in darkness. It was quiet and cold like the infinity of the night sky. He felt and aching peace. A feeling he related to decay. Like what happens after the pain of death is over, where there was nothing left for you to do but to fade back into the earth. And there was no pain there.

* * *

><p>Author's Notes: Labeled this story under "in-progress" because I have a second chapter started already. I hope you enjoyed reading and please let me know what you think. I would love to hear from you guys. Thanks for reading!<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Notes: I decided to change the title of my story. Thanks to everyone who read the first chapter and I would like to give a shout-out to Lederra for leaving me a review. Thanks! Reviews inspire me to write so yeah. :)

* * *

><p>Liquid State<p>

Chapter 2

Was this his death?

"_Grateful or disappointed_?" he heard Gemma's voice ask.

_Grateful,_ he wanted to say back but her voice was not real, she was not there. He was alone.

The cold was beginning to bite into his flesh and an ache was beginning to form on his joints. He wasn't dead. He wasn't.

"…_disappointed?"_

There was a heavy stench in the air he could easily mistake for the fresh scent of blood that was beginning to break him through the surface of his drunken unconscious and yet he kept his eyes tightly shut. He didn't want to see what was waiting for him once he opened his eyes. He wasn't ready to deal, not just yet.

"_You betrayed me." _Jax's voice rung through his ears. Then Tara came to mind. Then blood, it was all over the floor. Gemma looking up at him, with that look in her eyes: vulnerability. He couldn't let her relate. So he helped her up.

But, somehow he ended up on the floor, _and the blood was still there_.

* * *

><p>The boy had not answered his phone, usually that was something to worry about but worried was the last feeling Chibs felt at the moment. His job was to gather all the members. Something terrible had happened and until everyone knew why and by who, the whole club was to meet up at the clu-… the ice cream shop to discuss what steps to take next.<p>

Chibs rolled up into Juice's drive-in, noting that his motorcycle was parked in its usual spot. Chibs released a growl of annoyance as he parked his motorcycle next to his. He pulls his phone out and attempted another call. When it's not received he slams it shut with aggravation. He marcheed up to the front door and began to slam his fist at the door, not waiting to see if anyone would answer when he decided to try his luck with the door knob. Locked, he deduced after a few irritated attempts.

He gave it a rest for a second looking over his shoulder briefly to see if anyone around the neighborhood had noticed his ruckus. It seemed no one had.

Chibs placed his hands on his hips, took in a deep breath and released it with the slight, gentle fall of his head as he considered his options. A: let the boy be – the club doesn't trust him at the moment anyways, he reasoned. B: break into the house and figure out why the fuck he's not answering.

He pulled his phone out and looked at the time. He was taking too long to get back to the club. He settled with option C: give the boy one more chance to pick up the phone.

He presses 'call' and the dial tone begins. "C'mon, you little shit, answer your phone." He says with little patience as he listens to his phone ring. The ringing ends and soon the voice mail box begins as it reiterates back the number he had tried to call. He slams the phone shut with the same force, if not more, as earlier, surrendering any further attempt to reach the boy and begins to make his way back to his motorcycle.

* * *

><p>Juice wiggled his fingers letting his awakening be slow and painless as possible. He knew he had to get back up. He just needs to keep moving. Let the club deal with him however seemed appropriate. Determined, his hand stretched out completely, firmly gripping the floor beneath him and before he could push himself up he felt something warm, something liquid, underneath it.<p>

This seemed to bring him to full alertness. Suddenly, he was aware of the puddle of blood next to him, of a shadows standing over him.

The shadows didn't move. They just stood enveloped in absolute darkness. The only tell of their presence was – a feeling of anger – an aura and Juice was suddenly scared, more than he has ever felt before.

A clatter of loud noises erupted from the walls of Juices house that forced his hands up to his ears. The noises set the walls into a violent vibration. His whole world seemed to shake and tremble and he couldn't make it stop.

* * *

><p>Something in his conscience stopped him from turning the key on his bike. "Fuck!" Chibs spat as he stripped himself of his helmet and hooked it back on the bike. He once again climbed of his bike and made his way back up to the front door. He slammed his fist viciously on the door once again not caring of the commotion he was making and when no one answered he began to worry. He tried the door knob once again with no success then moved over to the window a little over and attempted to get a good look inside. The blinds where shut, and from what he could see from the little spaces at the ends that the blinds did not cover, there was no sign of anyone.<p>

He gave another brief glance over his shoulder as he pulled his pick-lock from the inside of his cut, and there in broad day light he pick-locked the door open and let himself in.

Except for the little bit of sun light leaking in through the cracks between the blinds, it was dark inside. Chibs instinctively move his hand over his gun as he slowly made his way through the living room. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and yet Chibs got a bad feeling at the pit of his stomach. Something was definitely wrong here. His first thought was to check the bed room. _The kid probably fell asleep_, he considered, _and must have forgot to charge his phone or something._

But as he made a quick run-through through the kitchen he noticed something troubling: blood.

* * *

><p>Author's Notes: So, I suck at writing. Sorry if this was confusing. But if you clicked on this second chapter and made it to the end that means maybe I'm not doing so bad. So, thank you and please don't forget to drop me a review, it would mean the world to me.<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

Author's notes: Thanks to everyone who reviewed my previous chapter. If it wasn't for you guys I'm not sure if I would have ever gotten around to writing this chapter. They really pushed me to keep writing even though it took me a while. Sorry. Don't kill me, please.

Chapter 3

Chibs studied the room, deducing a frantic nature. Red hand prints had been stamped and smeared across the floor. He traced the sight of blood, following its path into the shadowy darkness of the nooks and corners of the silent home.

At first he thought about calling in the guys before continuing but the quiet wasn't absolute. There was a nervous shrill to the air; an untamed silence alerting and unsettling that begged urgent investigating.

Chibs took slow, tentative steps as he walked around the blood careful not to lay his foot in it. And as he looked on the pool of blackened blood, there was a pang in his heart he inwardly sneered at because inside he knew he cared for the kid even after the actions the kid had taken in which, in the eyes of the club, was only and will ever be betrayal. Nothing would change that notion. Nothing could change the penalty for it. Somehow, the kid had escaped Mr. Mayhem's gavotte. Chibs showed the kid no mercy when it came to letting him know even though the club president had been easy to forget – not so much forgive – his faults for whatever reason he, in turn, had not.

But despite all that, Juice still held a spot in his heart Chibs was afraid to regard because by some unspoken club rule that wasn't supposed to be so, anymore.

He caught himself getting carried away with thought. Usually, he was so astute and definitive but something about this place his mind feared enter. Something about this place hindered him. But his heart found emergence past resentment indoctrinated in him and it told his eyes to look up and seek him. Seek Juice.

In the silence broke a sound. Brown eyes searched but found nothing. The sound became a whisper. Chibs followed it leading him sightlessly down the painted crimson path just above a floor drowned out in blackness.

"No… no… no…" The whispers said, quiet and dreamlike in its secrecy but as Chibs neared its source the whispers turned harsh and anguished. "No… no… I'm sorry… I'm sorry… I'm sorry…"

Then, it finally dawned on him to use his phone as a source of light. With nervous hands he found his phone and with the light shining from the activated screen he scanned the room, first for a light switch but before he could he had found him.

A body curled into itself hid underneath the kitchen table. Hands pressed firmly against his ears and blood trailing away from him.

Chibs rushed to his side, falling to his knees beside the young man not caring weather his knees would bruise or not. He could see now the blood was coming from a gash on his head… a lot of blood.

"Juice! Juicy-boy! Fuck!" He said panicked. He laid a hand on the kid's shoulder. Juice shook under his palm. Violent tremors had a hold of his body.

He examined him and from the little he could tell the kid had no other wound other than that horrible looking laceration on his head. And though the wound was much to worry about, it didn't account for the amount of blood he had seen.

"I'm sorry… I'm sorry… I'm sorry…" he said so quietly Chibs wondered how he was ever able to hear those small cries. Juice's hands were still up to his ears all the while he lightly shook his head side to side. "Stop. Please make it stop."

"Juice," Chibs called out but just like before Juice did not react to his verbal queues. He took another look at the wound on Juices head this time trying to get a closer look. It took some strain to see through the dark and heavy shadows that surrounded them but after a while he was able to see the ugly, sizable bruise surrounding the bloodied gash. "Fuck!" he cursed as he considered the kid just might have a concussion as well.

"Juice, c'mon, we need to get you off the floor." Juice did not respond but Chibs did not expect anything other than that but he spoke to him anyways just in case the kid was actually able to hear him though he doubted it. From what he could tell, the kid was in some state of trance probably caused by any bruising in the brain the kid may have. Speaking to him was a small measure in making sure the kid stayed conscious, even though Chibs wasn't one-hundred percent sure Juice was. At this point, it was hard to tell. The kid was alive, that was good enough.

Chibs got back up to his feet and reached for Juice still under the table. He obtained an arm and with a groan he began. It was easy enough to pull him from underneath the canopy of wood and shadows, an ease that grew disturbing when Chibs hardly broke a sweat when he finally had the kid in his arms. A man Juice's age should not weigh as much as he did. It should never be easy to lift him up but he could not blame the kid for a weight loss he had noticed but hardly cared to regard when the kid was progressively spiraling south in the eyes of the club. Everyone had noticed it. The kid was unstable, edgy – depressed wasn't too farfetched of an idea – though the kid denied anything ever being wrong at every turn of the question. And even as Chibs carried him towards his bedroom, the kid shaking and trembling in his arms, he wasn't sure how much he would allow himself to care or if he would at all. The only thing he had in mind of doing was fixing that gash on his head, get him to stop bleeding, bring him to a healthy state of consciousness because it wasn't the kid's time to go. There would be a time for that. Now not being it. Mr. Mayhem has not judged him yet.

TBC…

Author's notes: Please review letting me know what you think.


End file.
